


tender

by visiblemarket



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mostly Platonic, Platonic bed sharing, Post-Canon, almost entirely platonic really, level 4 friends unlocking each other's tragic backstory, minimal spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Mind if I join you?”</i>
</p><p>  <i>Poe tilts his head and smiles up at him. He looks tired, and somehow both older and younger at once: his usual quick charm softened to well-earned confidence, the start of lines around his eyes lost to the low light. “Of course not, buddy. Feel free."</i></p><p>  <i>“What are you doing up?” Finn says, too quickly, without thinking; maybe that’s wrong, maybe it’s not something you ask. Maybe you wait for someone to tell you. Maybe—</i></p><p>  <i>Poe laughs, ducks his head. Gives a slight groan as he rubs the back of his neck. “Would you believe, Very Important Resistance Business, Top Secret?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	tender

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [trippypeas](http://trippypeas.tumblr.com/), who beta'd this for me.
> 
> Also, thank you to [LemonScience33](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonScience33/pseuds/LemonScience33), who left me [a very nice comment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/581229/comments/47901092) on an old fic asking if there was any _Star Wars_ fic in my future. Well. Apparently there was.

_the walls are white and the sheets are crisp and the mattress is thin and the rows of beds stretch out around him, behind him, in front of him, to the left and right and everywhere, infinite like stars and orderly like the holes in a net_

_the ceilings are high_

_so high that they curve into the darkness, above him, and he can hear it, the slow steady beat of its leather wings as it circles him, as it comes for him, as it swallows him whole._

*

The lights in the mess are dimmer now than he’s seen them. It makes sense, given the hour, but it makes the room smaller, somehow, than when it’s filled with pilots and mechanics and technicians and their trays, their food, the clattering of plates and the steady stream of chatter. He would’ve figured it’d go the other way, but then again, what does he know; he’s never been somewhere people can keep their own hours.

It’s not totally empty, of course; there’s a couple of recently relieved sentries back from their shift, a bleary-eyed diplomat or two. A solitary cook who’s been unfortunate enough to pull overnight duty. A familiar dark haired figure with a tablet in front of him, tapping his stylus in a softly frantic rhythm against the table. It’s better luck than Finn could’ve imagined. He almost doesn’t want to tempt it, almost doesn’t want to disturb him, but— “Mind if I join you?”

Poe tilts his head and smiles up at him. He looks tired, and somehow both older and younger at once: his usual quick charisma softened to well-earned confidence, the start of lines around his eyes lost to the low light. “Of course not, buddy. Feel free."

That’s the thing, isn’t it. “What are you doing up?” he says, too quickly, without thinking; maybe that’s wrong, maybe it’s not something you ask. Maybe you wait for someone to tell you. Maybe—

Poe laughs, ducks his head. Gives a slight groan as he rubs the back of his neck. “Would you believe, Very Important Resistance Business, Top Secret?"

“No?” he ventures, which seems like the right answer: Poe grins and toss his stylus onto the table.

“Can’t get anything past you, can I?” He glances back down at the tablet, brow furrowed in frustration. “I’m writing a letter home. Trying to, anyhow.”

“What’s the trouble?"

Poe shrugs, running a distracted hand through his already mussed curls. “Trouble is, there’s stuff I _can’t_ tell ‘em. And stuff I shouldn’t. And stuff I want to, but—you know."

“Oh yeah,” Finn says, though he doesn’t, of course. Poe looks over at him again, hazel eyes brighter than they have any right to be, given the time.

“It’s hard for them. My father fought for the Rebellion for years. My grandfather lost his wife, most of his family, his village, to the Empire. To find out all of that was in vain…” Poe sighs, and picks up his stylus again. “I can’t even think about what it would’ve done to my mother."

She was a pilot, Finn remembers. Poe had mentioned it, that she taught him to fly, that she died when he was a kid; Poe had mentioned it, and Finn hadn’t said anything, because he’d been drifting on the edge of consciousness and unable to speak at the time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he can now, and Poe gives a strangely unhappy chuckle, even as his expression softens. Finn drops his gaze to keep from staring at him. “So what _do_ you tell them about?”

“The good stuff. Systems I’ve been to. Planets I’ve seen. You, I—" Finn looks up at him; he nods at Finn and smiles. “I told them about you. They’re happy you’re up and about. My grandfather was about to send me his recipe for totolayotl."

“Toto—what?"

“It’s, uh, soup. From a kind of bird. Grandpa raises them, claims it’s better than bacta for healing people up."

“Is it?"

Poe laughs again. It's real this time: his eyes crinkle, and Finn finds himself grinning back automatically. “Nah,” he says. “Grandpa’s a little…” Poe smiles fondly, wiggling his fingers by the side of his head.

“Huh. So that’s where you get it,” Finn says, and Poe snorts, kicking gently at his ankle under the table. Finn kicks back carefully and Poe grins, ducks his head, bites thoughtlessly at his bottom lip.

“So how about you, smart guy?” he says, lifting his head again. "What’re you doing out this late?"

“Room’s too quiet,” he says; honesty’s all he’s got, right now. “Guess I got used to the medbay, all the other patients.” The sound of their breathing, the beeping of droids, the constant reminders that he was safe, or at least as safe as he could get. The constant distractions from the sound of his own heartbeat, his own thoughts, and the low, familiar hiss of _traitor traitor traitor_ that likes to slither out from the box he forces it into in the morning. During the day his mind is full of new experiences, new doubts, new questions that come at lightning speed, now that his brain's not clogged by fear that’d been so constant he’d forgotten it was there. Learning to use his new spine, learning to live his new life, it's easy to forget the rest of it. But at night, in the silence, his mind is flooded by memories and guilt and—he thinks—dreams. He hadn't dreamt in years.

Poe’s looking at him again. He feels his face flush and resists the urge to drop his gaze.

“You all right?” Poe says, low, full of quiet urgency.

“Could use some real sleep.” Honesty again. Lying to himself hasn’t worked. Lying to Poe is unthinkable, ungrateful.

Poe cocks his head at him, press his lips together; it means he’s thinking of something, something he’s not sure he wants to bring up, which is saying a lot, Finn has learned. Poe is confident to a fault, quick to offer solutions to problems if he thinks he’s got them.

“What?” Finn says, slightly wary but mostly curious.

“Okay, I’m going to make a suggestion. I just want to make sure it’s taken in the spirit with which it’s intended."

“The spirit with…what does that even mean?"

“It means no funny business, okay? You can bunk with me. I’ve only got the one bed, at least for tonight. Could get you something else tomorrow, or we could try and move yours in, but it’d be kind of a tight fit, so…”

“What—I—bunk with you?"

Poe shrugs. “If you want. Just for tonight, see how it works. You can go right back to your quarters tomorrow if it doesn’t. Can go right back to your quarters tonight, if you want."

Finn laughs, helplessly. “You sure you wanna give up your…” he struggles to find the word. “Privacy?"

“I’m out like a light most nights, kid. Probably won’t even notice you’re there once my head hits that pillow."

Finn’s not sure how he feels about that. But he’s afraid that if he keeps asking Poe to reassure him he’ll take back his offer. “Well, if you’re…if you’re sure."

Poe grins at him again, and nods to himself. “Great. Let me just…" he waves at the momentarily forgotten tablet in front of him. “And then we can—"

“Yeah, sure,” Finn says, then winces; too quick, rude, interrupting him, when he’s doing such a nice thing. Poe doesn’t even seem to notice, just scribbles a couple of quick lines at the end of the message he’d been writing, taps the stylus to the screen twice with exaggerated finality. Finn wonders if that’s for his benefit, as he watches Poe presses his thumb against the screen to authorize its transmission, then slip the stylus into its regular slot.

“C’mon,” Poe says, tucking the tablet under his arm as he stands, then nodding toward the door on the opposite end of the mess hall. Finn clambers to his feet and follows him.

*

Poe’s quarters aren’t far; Finn’s been there before, back when Poe’d taken him on as much of a tour of the base as Finn’s still-healing body’d been able to handle. The room’s much the same as Finn’s: tiny, with most of the space taken up by the bed and a set of shelves. Poe’s status seems to have guaranteed him a desk as well, and Finn wonders at the fact that he could’ve written his message from there instead of the mess.

He spots BB-8 sitting in the corner opposite the desk, next to the bed, silent and powered down. The droid lets out an almost surprised chirp, followed by an inquisitive trill, when Poe shut the door behind them, and Poe chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Back to sleep, buddy. Just gonna get Finn here settled in for the night."

There’s a low, almost drowsy sequence of bleeps in response, and Poe tsks good-naturedly before turning back to Finn. “Guess I should've warned you before, I have it on good authority that I can be pretty…” Poe holds up his hands and mimes grabbing at something. “... in my sleep."

“Oh yeah? Whose authority?” Finn asks, aiming for casual curiosity and missing, almost definitely, from the way Poe glances over at him, narrow-eyed and intent for a split second, before he winks.

“Well, BB-8 won’t stop complaining about it.”

Finn laughs too loudly at that, confused by the strange warm wave of relief that fills his chest, and gives in to the urge to give Poe a light punch in the arm; Poe nudges his shoulder in retaliation, and BB-8 burbles indignantly until Poe walks over to give the droid a couple of conciliatory pats.

He gestures to Finn that he should sit on the bed; Finn does, silently, watching as Poe drops the tablet onto the desk, and slips the green tunic he’s wearing off over his head, severely tousling his hair in the process. He's wearing a thin white shirt underneath and when he stretches, a bare inch of tan skin appears for a second, then vanishes. Finn shuts his eyes; yeah, if nothing else, he’ll have distractions enough tonight.

“You okay to sleep in that?” Finn opens his eyes; Poe’s looking him over thoughtfully. He nods, quickly, because the last thing he needs right now is for Poe to decide to lend him more clothes that he’ll refuses to take back later. The soft shirt and trousers he’s in will be fine, once he takes off his shoes; he’s slept in worse. “Okay. Well.” Poe waves off the lights, and heads over to the opposite side of the bed. “G’night, Finn. Let me know if you need anything."

*

Poe is true to his word: apparently fast asleep within seconds of being horizontal.

It takes Finn longer, acclimating himself to the rhythm of Poe’s breathing, the proximity of another human being. They’re not touching; the bed’s big enough to allow Finn to lie on his side, turned away from Poe, who’s on his back. But they’re close enough that Poe’s warmth bridges the distance between them, and Finn can’t really say he minds. He’s fallen asleep to worse.

He’s woken up to worse, too. Worse than the steady beat of Poe’s heart, the newly familiar earthy smell of him flooding his senses. The feeling of Poe's skin against the palm of Finn’s hand, which has drifted under Poe’s shirt and around Poe’s hip. The thrill of Poe’s fingers trailing lazily along his back.

"Is this…” he swallows, clears his throat. Considers moving his head off Poe’s shoulder, considers pulling his knee away from where it’s nudging Poe’s well-muscled thigh, but opts against it. “This the kind of funny business you were talking about?"

Poe’s silent for a second, as his body shifts, just slightly, adjusting their position so he can wrap his arm around Finn’s back and draw him closer. “Could be,” he murmurs. “Know any good jokes?"

Finn chuckles, and shuts his eyes again. Takes a breath. Lets it out. “When I was—When I was a kid, they had us all in one big room.” Poe’s body tenses against his, but his hand presses lightly against Finn’s shoulder blade, grounding him, encouraging him. “Rows and rows of us, y’know? Could always hear people breathing.” It’s his first memory. He’s not sure he wants Poe to know that, not yet, not ever. He's not even sure why he's telling Poe _this_ , now. “Sometimes we’d push the beds together, just to…” to feel the warmth of another person. To remember they weren’t alone. Whatever that’d been worth. He sighs, and Poe’s hand strokes lightly down his back.

“They let you do that?” his voice is strangely soft, softer than Finn’s ever heard it, and Finn’s heard it at what they’d both assumed to be his death bed at the time.

“For a while.” He’s wondered about that, more in the past few weeks than he ever did before. “Think they didn’t notice at first. Maybe they wanted us loyal to each other before we worked up to the First Order.” Maybe they just didn’t care, as long as they weren’t killing each other. “Kids who'd tripped you in training’d be the first ones to curl up next to you at night. Never mentioned it in the morning.”

Poe is quiet for a while, but doesn’t stop his steady, gentle strokes to Finn’s back. “Not gonna—not going to trip you in training, Finn."

“I know,” he says, because he does. “That’s not…" that’s not the point, not why he’d told him.

“Okay.” Poe takes a deep breath; Finn feels himself rise with the movement of his chest. Feels Poe's fingers trail up his back, tracing the surgical scars bracketing his new, cybernetic spine, till they reach the nape of his neck. “Okay. I didn’t…” his voice wavers, and he takes another breath. Finn listens to Poe’s heart; it’s as steady as before. “Didn’t have any brothers myself, growing up. No sisters. Just me and my folks. Then me and my—my dad. My grandfather. Thing about doing something like this, though?” he hesitates, rubbing lightly at Finn’s shoulder. “Fighting a war, I mean. Thing is, sometimes you end up finding a family, in the worst of places. Find yourself missing things after, things you didn’t think you—don’t think you _should_ miss. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t…wasn’t the worst of places. Just means you’re human, you know? I mean, you know,” he rubs at the edges of spine. “Mostly human."

Finn nods, once, quickly, against Poe’s chest.

“One hell of a joke there, Dameron,” he mumbles into Poe’s t-shirt; he’s heard Poe’s friends call him that before, never had the nerve to do it himself before, but at this point, why not.

Poe sighs, apparently in relief, because the tension in his body eases almost instantly as he reaches over to stroke at the top of Finn’s head with his other hand, and a small, drowsy laugh vibrates through him.

“What can I say, buddy? Did promise you no funny business, after all."

"Yeah," Finn says, letting his eyes drift shut. "Yeah, you did."

*

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Poe's parents' backstory, as alluded to here, is described in full in the [Shattered Empire](http://www.amazon.com/Star-Wars-Journey-Awakens-Shattered/dp/0785197818) comics; his mom was amazeballs and his dad called people he'd just captured "buddy", it's outstanding. Also his mom mentions that _her_ dad was taking care of bb!Poe when she and her hubby were off Fighting The Good Fight, so I assume Poe  & his grandpa were pretty close.
> 
> 2\. Poe mentions his mom teaching him to fly in [Before the Awakening](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/148472822X/ref=pd_lpo_sbs_dp_ss_1?pf_rd_p=1944687442&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0785197818&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0JWMD4DF418WGMPQY6EY), and a little about how his dad's afraid of the resurgence of the Empire. Also how Poe grew up on a ranch, which is cool beans.
> 
> 3\. _Totolayotl_ is the [Nahuatl](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nahuatl) word for chicken soup. I looked around for the equivalent of chicken in _Star Wars_ and was disappointed to learn that there are apparently _[actual](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Endorian_chicken)_ chickens in _Star Wars_. So I decided to throw in some Nahuatl, which _is_ spoken in parts of Guatemala (which is kinda sorta the basis of [Yavin 4](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Yavin_4), Poe's home planet), though it doesn't originate there. 
> 
> 4\. ["Tender"](https://www.google.com/search?q=tender&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8) is a lovely word. Use it, unchanged, as a noun, verb, and adjective, to at least four different meanings! Use it as a title and be ambiguous as to which definition it refers to! Could be one! Could be all in their own way!


End file.
